TeamBuilding Exercise
by Sottanaprima
Summary: Working together as a team poses an extra problem for Chief.


Team-Building Exercise

Chief opened his eyes, then rolled onto his back, shifting to one side to stay in the narrow bed. He grabbed his pillow and bunched it under his head so that he could look around without straining his neck. His nostrils twitched at the fug: the window was partially open, but the blackout curtain stopped the air circulating properly around the room that contained the four very tired men. Two of them had got drunk last night; their snores were muted now but the odours of excess permeated the room.

Silently he slid out of bed and pulled the curtain away from the window and anchored it over a chair: the early morning sunlight half-lit the room, but the sharp, cold fresh air tasted sweet. He got dressed quickly and was out of the window and down the tree without thinking: he need some time alone.

It was still early: really about four, but with double summer time they'd say it was six. The lush greenness of the English countryside still surprised him, but the heavy dew told him that the moisture was there to support the growth of plants and the wildlife that depended on them. It was a stark contrast to what he was used to. Come to think of it, the whole country, or what he'd seen of it, was a surprise. He followed the path down to the lake, walking along its edge until he was following the stream that fed it. He passed the bridge and ducked under the long fronds of a weeping willow. Thus hidden from view, he found a dry piece of earth and sat down, resting his back against the rough trunk of the solid tree.

He thought about the nurse.

They'd landed at the submarine base and Actor had somehow managed to get the Warden to the doors of the naval medical centre before the latter had started to protest. Actor had said something softly in what Chief thought was German, the Warden had scowled and then smiled ruefully at the tall Italian, and they'd all gone in together. The Warden had gone off to be checked out, and the nurse, dressed in a severe uniform with an elaborate cap, had taken them to a room to wait. And then brought them tea and 'biscuits'. And she'd smiled at them all.

She hadn't cut him out and made him wait outside. Or even in a separate room. She'd treated them all the same. Nicely.

He didn't know why, but the guards at the Mansion were British too. They were billeted in a Nissen hut in the field beyond the formal garden, and British soldiers brought the cons' meals over to the Mansion three times a day. At first the Englishmen had been resentful of this pandering to the cons, but their attitude had quickly changed, and now there was friendly banter between the two camps, sustained on the Yank side mainly by Goniff and Casino. But the guards treated him the same as the others. Even when there was no-one else about.

And last night...

After previous missions the Warden had walked into their room and deposited a bottle of bourbon on the table, making a terse comment to the effect that they'd done well, and then walked out.

Last night Garrison had taken them to the pub.

They'd passed it a few times in the lorry that took them to and from the airfield, but on the way back to the Estate the Warden had told the driver to stop at the pub, and they'd all gone in and had a few drinks. Goniff had been ridiculously happy and had celebrated by downing a pint of bitter in one, and had followed it with a whiskey chaser, more beer and then more chasers. Casino had complained about the temperature of the beer, but the landlord had some bourbon, so he'd commandeered the bottle and switched to that. Actor had made a couple of brandies last all night, and the Warden had done the same with a half of bitter.

Chief had tried the bitter, but didn't really like the taste. His attention had been attracted by the game being played in one corner of the room. Four men, two teams of two, were throwing missiles at a target hung on the wall; scores were being totted down, not up, in chalk on a blackboard, and comments, ranging from the disappointed to the excited, were constantly bandied about. He was so engrossed in working out the intricacies of the game that he was surprised when a female voice said, "Can tell you're not from these parts, love. Don't they play darts in your neck of the woods?"

He'd turned to see a barmaid standing opposite him on the other side of the narrow table, four glasses interwoven in the fingers of her left hand while with her right she wiped down the table in front of him. She was pretty, with dark blonde hair swept off her face and held back by a large comb, and she was wearing a blouse that emphasised her full breasts. And she was smiling straight at him.

Tongue-tied, he'd blushed. This brought a ribald comment from Casino and laughter from Goniff, but she'd smiled warmly at him and winked before going back to the bar to continue her duties. He knew enough about women to know that the sway of her hips as she walked away was for him, and when she reached the bar and turned to go behind it he knew to meet her eyes and smile his thanks for the show. He'd tried to concentrate on the game again, but somehow it didn't seem quite as important.

A gentle plash of water brought him out of his reverie; he dropped onto his stomach and wriggled to the water's edge to see what had made the noise. What he saw surprised him, and posed for him an unexpected dilemma.

He mulled over his dilemma for nearly a week before approaching the conman: his natural caution made him bide his time. Not that he was frightened of Actor. Just wary. The man was deep, very deep, and never let much of his real self show to any of them, even the Warden. Chief couldn't tell where the real man stopped and the conman took over. In Norway Actor had backhanded the Warden twice, and they'd all known that he was playing a part, but Chief had overheard Goniff telling Casino that he didn't think he could've done it, no matter how much depended on it; Casino had come back with some retort which was full of bravado but which Chief recognised as a lie. And Actor knew so much – not just about things, but about people and how they thought. Forced by his dilemma to consider whether he could ask the conman for help, Chief carefully weighed up the pros and cons.

It was the dinner of sausage, mash and cabbage that did it. They all ate it, but only because they needed the calories.

It was Actor's turn to wash up, and Chief remembered that it had been Actor who'd done this the first time, and that this simple act had brought about the thaw in relations with the British soldiers who guarded them. He watched as Casino and Goniff followed the Warden out of the kitchen, then got up and picked up a tea-towel.

"That is very kind of you."

"Ugh... You any good at cookin'?"

"Not really. There are one or two dishes that I can make, but I do tend to leave domestic chores to others."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"Just thought – there's rainbow trout in the stream."

Actor's looked at Chief, and stood up straight. "Are there, indeed? Now that is news." He paused. "Can you catch them?"

The Indian nodded curtly.

"One each?"

Again the nod.

"And one for the Warden?"

The nod again.

"But you don't know how to cook them."

It was a statement, and Chief shrugged. He did know, but his dilemma was that he thought that the sophisticated Italian would think the basic baking process too plain for his cultured taste. In fact that went for the other cons, and for the Warden too. Chief would be happier if someone else did the cooking.

Actor plunged his hands back into the washing-up water and finished the job quickly and efficiently. Drying his hands, he walked over to the cupboards, looking in each but not finding what he wanted. He walked over to the oven and looked inside. "This should do." He pulled out a large baking sheet which had a lip on it, and pushed it into the washing-up water before going back to the oven, examining its interior critically and testing the power.

Chief watched all this, understanding after each action what the conman was doing and why; he stored it away for later use.

Actor looked across at the silent Indian. "Tomorrow is Sunday – the food is usually less execrable. How about Monday?"

Suddenly feeling adventurous, Chief quarter-smiled. "What's execrable mean?"

The Italian scowled comically. "Worse than bad."

"Yup. Them rissoles is execrable. Monday," he agreed.

It was just before dawn when Chief padded silently over to Actor's bed only to find that the conman was already awake. They both dressed silently; Chief picked up a cloth bag and led the way out of the window and down the tree. At the bottom he looked up to watch the older man, his own bag over his shoulder, climbing confidently down. They walked in companionable silence through the summer morning, the dawn chorus covering the sound of their footsteps on the dirt path. About a quarter of a mile from the Chief's fishing spot Actor peeled off into the field, heading toward his goal before returning to stand watch while Chief caught supper.

It didn't take long. Chief knew where to find his prey, and his gentle fingers tickled their bellies, lulling them into a stupor, before seizing them firmly and transferring them into his net. Only when there were five captives did he lift the net out of the water, kill each fish quickly with a swift blow to the head, and deposit them and the net into the cloth bag. Then he climbed out of the stream, dried his feet on his towel, replaced his socks and boots and rolled down his trouser legs.

Respecting the quiet of the morning, the two men didn't speak until they reached the tree which acted as their ladder. Chief slowed slightly to let Actor go up first, but the conman shook his head. "I need to see how you do it," he said softly.

A strange feeling of elation swept over the Indian, but it didn't make him forget to go a little slower than usual so that Actor would have time to see how it was done.

Garrison closed his office door behind him and threw his cap at the hat stand. It had been a long, boring day. Billed as a briefing for all junior officers (attendance compulsory), he'd found the topics irrelevant and the company oddly uninspiring. He'd played along – he smiled grimly as he realised how easily he'd started and maintained the con. He found he was looking forward to seeing his men at dinner – and he wondered briefly what that said about him. Then he realised it was Monday.

When this caper had started he'd had no guidelines to help him – he'd been thrown in at the deep end. On the flight over to the States he'd tried to think of the problems and how he could get round them, and one of the decisions he'd made was that he'd eat with the cons. It had been a good decision – even Casino had to admit that, as an officer, Garrison didn't get much preferential treatment.

He'd left his desk clear, and now there was a paper on it.

It was a postcard. Garrison recognised Actor's flowing cursive handwriting. It said:

_The Gorillas_

_invite_

_Lt Garrison_

_to dine_

_Monday at 7.00pm_

_No tie_

A mixture of pleasant anticipation mingled with a realistic sense of foreboding: Gil had reported that they'd been as good as gold all day. He should've known it was too good to be true.

Aw, hell, he'd go along with it. He had just enough time to grab a shower and change.

Goniff was lurking in the hall, and he began to whistle as Garrison approached. It was so blatant it made him want to laugh, but the Warden noted too that they were working as a team on this, which had to be a step forward.

"Ah! The guest of honour!" Goniff grinned. "Step this way, sir!"

Garrison's grin broadened: it was the first time any of the cons had called him sir.

The scrubbed wood of the kitchen table had been transformed: a white damask cloth covered it, and matching napkins complemented each place setting. In the centre of the table someone had placed a simple arrangement of roses from the garden, and their perfume mingled with that of mushrooms and cooking fish.

Goniff seated the Warden before taking his own chair; Casino appeared at the Warden's shoulder and poured cider into his wine glass. "Chefs' compliments, but the white wine's corked," he recited, then moved round the table filling all the glasses.

Garrison looked across to where the chefs were busy plating up the food. Spatulas and fish slices were wielded with economical efficiency, and then Chief was placing a plate of food at each seat. Somehow Actor and Chief managed to take their seats at the same time.

Garrison surveyed his plate – rainbow trout with field mushroom and onion stuffing and an apple and cider sauce, duchess potatoes, and carrots and green beans that hadn't been overboiled. He looked up and looked at each of his men in turn, then reached for his glass. "Cheers."

A chorus of voices echoed his toast, and they all drank. The cider was dry and crisp.

The Warden picked up his knife and fork, opened out his fish, expertly lifted the flesh and stuffing off the skin and convey the forkful to his mouth.

"Well," he said, "it beats rissoles."

Half an hour later the guest of honour joined the chefs in their room for a brandy while Goniff and Casino tackled the washing up. Garrison sat in the wing chair while Actor took one of the straight backed chairs at the table and Chief stretched out on his bed.

"Whose idea was this?"

"Chief's," said Actor.

"His," said Chief at the same time.

"Chief discovered the trout. After that..." The conman made a very Italian gesture that conveyed the inevitability of the consequences.

Garrison wanted to ask if everything was above board and reassure himself that nothing was going to come back and bite him, but it seemed churlish after they'd made such an effort. Then he realised that the conman was watching him: seeing that he had got his attention, Actor smiled gently, then his face became serious, and he slowly blinked, then smiled again.

The next day Garrison allocated them their own rooms.


End file.
